


Under the Weather

by Tails89



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Derek Takes Care Of Stiles, Kinda, M/M, Minor Melissa McCall/Sheriff Stilinski, Sick Stiles Stilinski, Sickfic, and they finally sort out their feelings, fluffly fluffy fluff, sterek, the sheriff just wants grandbabies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-04
Updated: 2018-03-04
Packaged: 2019-03-26 20:06:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,094
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13865070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tails89/pseuds/Tails89
Summary: Derek is worried when Stiles misses pack night. Stiles just has a cold.





	Under the Weather

**Author's Note:**

> Blergh, okay, I'm supposed to be doing homework right now, but I have a cold and its summer and hot and I just want someone to take care of me :( but we can't always have what we want so I wrote Derek taking care of Stiles to make me feel better :)

“Stiles, it’s midday, why aren’t you dressed?”

Stiles looks down at the ratty sweatpants he’d worn to bed and wraps his arms around himself.

“I didn’t realise I had somewhere to be,” he grumbles and tucks his hands into the front of his hoody. “Since when do you use the front door?”

Despite the wintery air outside, Derek is clad only in jeans and a thin long-sleeved shirt. Stiles feels cold just looking at him. Derek points towards the couch, where Stiles had been curled up before the doorbell rang. “I could see you through the window.” He turns his attention back to Stiles. “What’s wrong with your voice?”

“It’s nothing” Stiles clears his throat, when the words croak. “It’s just a cold.” He steps aside. “You going to come in or just stand in the doorway? You’re letting out all the warm air dude.”

Derek follows him into the house, taking careful note of Stiles’ appearance. His face is pale, moles standing out in stark contrast against his skin, his eyes are red-rimmed with dark smudges underneath.

“A cold?” He asks sceptically. “You look awful.”

“Thanks man,” Stiles drops down onto the couch. “Not all of us have supernatural healing abilities.” He coughs into his hand as if to make a point. “I’m human with a human immune system. Anyway, you need something?”

“You weren’t at the pack meeting last night.”

“Oh shit.” Stiles’ eyes go wide. “Shit. I’m sorry. I kind of crashed really hard last night.”

“It’s fine,” Derek waves him off. “But then you also weren’t answering your phone this morning…”

“My phone?” Stiles asks. “I didn’t get any- hang on.” He pushes up from the couch, moving stiffly, and disappears upstairs. When he returns a few minutes later, he’s clutching his phone and a power cord. “I forgot to plug it in,” he explains, plugging it in to the wall beside the coffee table. Within moments the mobile comes to life, chirping with missed messages. “Sorry if I freaked you out,” Stiles says as he scrolls through the text messages, “thanks for you know, coming to make sure I’m alive… You, uh, you can go now if you want.” He drops the phone back onto the table and leans back into the couch cushions.

“Uh, I don’t really have anywhere to be.” Derek’s still standing awkwardly next to the couch. “Do you want any company.”

Stiles feels his face flush. “You really don’t have to,” his voice is going again, the words grate out against his sore throat. “I’m probably just going to watch Netflix.” He wants Derek to stay.

“I don’t mind.” Derek sits at the opposite end of the couch.

Stiles resumes the tv show he’d been watching before Derek showed up. He’d also been lying across the cushions, but there wasn’t enough room with both of them so he sits rigidly against the arm of the couch.

Even in that position, Stiles feels his eyelids sagging, and he’s asleep before the end of the episode.

The sensation of fingers carding through his hair wakes him. Or maybe it’s the chill running down his spine. Either way, he’s awake now and he’d rather not be. Stiles cracks one eye open. He’s on his back with his legs curled up against the back on the couch.

Two green eyes are staring down at him.

“How are you feeling?”

Stiles blinks. His head has somehow ended up pillowed on Derek’s lap. His heartrate picks up and he shifts, but doesn’t move his head away.  

“I feel like a werewolf’s chew toy,” he groans. His legs are tangled up in the bedspread from his room. He doesn’t remember getting it.

“You’re making jokes so it can’t be that bad.” Derek teases, his fingers still rest in Stiles’ hair and they drift down to lie against his forehead.

Stiles frowns, heart racing again. “What are you doing?”

“You’re hot.”

This time it’s Derek who flushes.

“I think you have a fever,” he clarifies. “Humans don’t run as warm as werewolves, but you’re pretty warm right now.” Derek’s fingers linger for a moment, but then Stiles forces himself into an upright position, scrubbing a hand over his face and untangling his legs from the blanket.

“Where are you going?” Derek asks.

Stiles swings his legs onto the floor. “I think we’ve got some Tylenol in the bathroom,” he says, about to get up.

Derek beats him to his feet. “Stay there.”

“Yes mom.” Stiles rolls his eyes but does as he’s told. There’s a warm feeling in his belly, watching Derek fuss over him. The werewolf returns shaking the last two tablets into Stiles’ hand before passing him a glass of water.

Stiles takes the medication; the water sits heavily in his stomach. He ignores the wave of nausea that rolls through him and croaks, “What time is it?”

“Almost two o’clock,” Derek takes the empty glass. “Do you want something to eat?”

The quick head shake was a bad idea. For a second, Stiles thinks he’s about the lose the medicine he’s just taken.

“No thanks,” the words a barely a whisper. Stiles figures the werewolf is probably sick of taking care of him. “You can go if you want,” he says. “I’m probably just going to go back to sleep.”

Derek just resumes his seat beside Stiles on the couch. “I was just getting into this show,” he reaches for the remote. “I can’t leave now.”

Stiles just stares at him.

“Once the Tylenol kicks in maybe you’ll want something to eat,” Derek says. “Until then, get some rest, don’t worry about me.” He stretches out, putting his feet up on the coffee table. Stiles almost does a double take. Derek’s socks have little cartoon moons on them.

Stiles settles back onto the couch, only hesitating for a moment before resting his head on Derek’s thigh. Almost immediately, there’s a hand in his hair. The motion is soothing and Stiles drifts off.

The next time he wakes, Stiles is feeling much better. The medication is working and Stiles’ fever is down and most of his aches have faded into background discomfort. He eats a piece of toast while Derek pretends not to watch, then sits and replies to some of the text messages from Scott and his Dad.

“Did you tell my Dad I was sick?” He turns to Derek, waving the phone in the werewolf’s face.

“He was going to notice anyway,” Derek shrugs. “I just asked if he could pick some things up from the pharmacy on his way home.”

“Derek- “

“Stiles.” Derek matches his whining tone. “I didn’t want to leave you here on your own. Besides, you’re going to thank me when the Tylenol wears off.” His feet nudge the empty bottle still sitting on the table.

“You do realise I’m twenty years old dude,” Stiles nudges Derek playfully. “I am old enough to be left on my own without killing myself or causing major property damage.” A cough tears up from his chest and he grimaces when it subsides.

“I have my doubts.”

“Rude,” Stiles pouts. He kicks is feet up onto the coffee table next to Derek’s and points at the TV. “So, what did I miss?”

\---

By the time the Sheriff walks through the front door, the Tylenol has worn off. He halts at the edge of the living room to take in the scene before him.

Derek is sitting ramrod stiff, watching Noah from the corner of his eyes. That sight in itself makes the Sheriff want to laugh. And here he thought the werewolf had finally learned to relax around him.

Noah figured the current tension was largely due to the fact that his son was curled up, lying mostly in Derek’s lap. Any fool could see how badly these two had it for each other. Derek was over once a week while Stiles was off at MIT, always asking after the boy and if Stiles had any plans to visit.

And Stiles was no better, thinking his questions after Derek and the pack were subtle.

Noah had tried to broach the subject with his son, but Stiles steadfastly refused to believe that Derek would ever see him as anything other than the weird skinny teenager he’d been growing up.

The idiots were made for each other.

The Sheriff dropped his bags on the kitchen table and checked his watch. Melissa would be off work soon and home for dinner. It was Sunday, which usually meant take-out. Technically, it was Stiles’ turn to choose, but another glance at the couch told Noah that his kid probably wasn’t up for much food.

“Hey Derek,” Noah watches the werewolf stiffen again. “You staying for dinner son?”

Derek forces himself to relax and nod. “If that’s alright by you,” he carefully slides out from under Stiles.

“Of course,” Noah grins. “It’s take out night.” He points Derek towards the fridge and the brochures held up by magnets. “Your pick.”

While Derek decides, Noah heads over to the coach. He’s got a new packet of cold and flu tablets and a glass of water which he sets down on the coffee table. He sits on the wooden tabletop and wakes Stiles gently.

“Hey kiddo,” he says when Stiles stirs. “How’re you feeling?”

“Awesome,” Stiles rasps. He sits up gingerly and rubs his eyes. “Where’s Derek?” He asks when he notices they’re alone in the lounge room.

“He’s in the kitchen,” Noah reassures him. “Ordering some dinner.” He waits while Stiles coughs into his hands. “You feeling up to some food?”

Stiles pulls a face.

“I figured as much.” Noah opens the packet and hands his son some pills followed by the water. “Here, these should help.” He waits until Stiles is finished and collects the glass to take it back to the kitchen.

Stiles follows him on shaky legs, sinking into a chair by the counter and resting his head on the cool bench top.

The front door opens and shuts with a blast of cold air.

Melissa walks in, shrugging out of her coat to hang it over a chair.

“Evening boys,” she greets, dropping a kiss on Noah’s cheek. She turns to Stiles, her smile turning sympathetic. “Oh Hun,” she walks over, holding her hands to his flushed cheeks.

“’t’s fine,” he says. “Jus’ a cold.” Melissa’s cool hands feel so good on his heated skin.

Melissa huffs, amused. “Sweetie, you’re burning up.” She takes her hands away. “Let me guess. Headache? Cough? Aches and pains?”

Stiles nods, miserable.

“You’ve probably got the flu, it’s going around at the moment.” Melissa looks down at her scrubs. “I’m going to go get changed before our food gets here. You-“ she gestures to Stiles, “go lie down.”

Stiles does as he’s told, wrapping himself in the bedspread and curling up on the couch. It feels like only a few seconds later when he feels a hand on his shoulder and he opens his eyes. He’s slept long enough for dinner to arrive, he can smell butter chicken, his dad’s favourite, it makes his stomach flip. He can hear voices in the kitchen. His dad is talking to Derek and… Scott? It sounds like Scott.

Melissa is sitting in front of him holding a glass of water. “You need fluids,” she tells him firmly. Stiles doesn’t want to move, he feels weary to his bones. Melissa’s expression grows move insistent until she finally gets Stiles to sit.

He drinks the water slowly, afraid of it making a repeat appearance, but he gets it all down. Next thing he knows, Derek is standing over him. “Melissa said you might need help up to your room.”

Stiles blushes and waves Derek away. “jus’ sleep here,” he mumbles.

“I think you bed will be more comfortable,” Derek tries. “Come on.”

Stiles is adamant he can get to his room on his own. Stiles ignores Derek’s presence behind him, taking the stairs one slow step at a time. He’s ready to collapse on the sheets when he makes it to his bed. Derek’s carrying the comforter that was on the couch. He spreads it over Stiles then disappears. He’s back moments later with more water which is placed on the table beside the bed.

“Goodnight Stiles,” he turns to leave.

“Stay.” The words muttered into the pillow, but then Stiles rolls over and looks at Derek. “Please?”

Derek hesitates at the end of the bed. Scott was over earlier, but has left to pick up Kira and has plans to spend the night at her place. Derek can hear the Sheriff and Melissa talking quietly downstairs. He was planning to keep an eye on Stiles anyway…

“Derek.”

He makes up his mind, leaving on his shirt Derek strips off his jeans and climbs into the bed next to Stiles. The other man immediately rolls towards him, mumbling “mm warm” and Derek can feel his face heating up but Stiles is already fast asleep.

\---

Derek doesn’t sleep very well that night.

Neither does Stiles.

Stiles tosses and turns and coughs and moans. Derek ends up moving on top of the bed sheets to escape the hot, sticky with sweat limbs that Stiles keeps throwing over him.

Derek catches himself thinking that Stiles is damn lucky that he loves him, or he’d never put up with it otherwise, which then has Derek’s thoughts reeling in panic because he knew he had feelings for the mole speckled boy, but love? Shit.

The night drags on, until the first tendrils of light are peaking through the blinds and Stiles seems to have finally settled down into real sleep. Derek gets up and shrugs on his jeans, creeping downstairs to the kitchen.

Noah is already there nursing a cup of coffee and a smug grin.

“Morning.”

Derek blushes and mumbles it back.

Noah points the embarrassed wolf towards the coffee maker, he can’t help himself. “Sleep well?” he asks.

“Yes. Thanks.” Derek puts all his concentration into making his coffee.

The Sheriff snorts. “Liar.”

Derek spins, almost knocking over his cup. “Sorry?”

“When Stiles was little, he used to insist on sleeping in our bed whenever he got sick. Legs and arms everywhere.” Noah laughs into his coffee. “Judging by how tired you look, I’m guessing he hasn’t changed much.”

“I, uh- Stiles and I-“

“Are both adults,” Noah interrupts. “And the rest really isn’t any of my business. Still,” he pauses to sip his drink. “You should probably talk to him. Preferably before I’m too old to chase after my grandkids.” He drains his coffee and stands, leaving the room before Derek can form any kind of response.

*

Derek hides in Stiles’ room until the Sheriff leaves for work. He isn’t proud of it okay, but he needs time to process that conversation.

Stiles is still sleeping, so Derek sits at his desk and watches him, wondering what he’s said to his father. As curious as he is, it’s not really a conversation they can have until Stiles is feeling better. Until then, Derek gets to stew in the Sheriff’s words.

He tries not to think about it, distracting himself with the books and comics he finds on the bookshelf. He wakes Stiles to give him some tablets and make him drink more water and barely manages to snatch up the small trash can by the desk when Stiles vomits it all up. He calls Melissa in a panic, who assures him it’s not entirely uncommon with the flu and is only a problem if it keeps happening. It doesn’t happen again and Stiles’ temperature has come down considerably by late afternoon.

They’re sitting on the bed watching movies on Stiles laptop when Stiles abruptly shuts the lid.

“You stayed.” He’s looking at Derek in wonder, voice scratchy and still too pale but much better than he’d been that morning. “Why?”

“Why did I stay?”

Stiles nods.

“I didn’t want you to be on your own,” Derek tells him.

“That’s it?” Stiles asks.

“No,” Derek hesitates. “I didn’t want- I couldn’t just leave you. It was like… instinct? It’s the same… every time you leave for school. You drive off in that death trap car of yours and I have this almost overwhelming urge to follow.”

Stiles bites his bottom lip deep in thought, then looks up.

“Can I- Can I ask you something?”

Derek only just starts to nod when Stiles leans forward and presses his lips to Derek’s. It’s brief and chaste Stiles won’t look at him after they pull away.

“I-“ Derek’s at a loss for words. “Can you repeat the question?”

Stiles glances up at him, cheeks colouring red but not from fever this time. He pushes the computer off his lap so he can twist towards Derek and leans forwards.

Lips meet again, more insistent this time. Derek’s hand curls around Stiles’ neck, resting on too warm skin and he pulls away.

“Why’d you stop?” Stiles complains. His hands are clutching at Derek’s shirt, trying to pull him back in.

“You’re still sick.” Derek tries to pry Stiles’ fingers off him.

“So?” Stiles lets Derek grab his wrists. “I’ve been wanting to do this for months.”

“Months?”

Stiles twists in Derek’s grip. “Every time I drive back to school I have to talk myself out of turning the Jeep around.” He laughs, bringing a hand up to smother a cough. “We’re such idiots. I can’t believe I could have been all over you months ago. We have so much catching up to do.”

“When you’re feeling better.”

Stiles rolls his eyes. “When I’m feeling better.”

\---

When the Sheriff gets home, Derek takes the opportunity to duck home for a shower and a change of clothes. When he returns Stiles is asleep on the couch, hair damp from his own quick shower and the Sheriff is wearing a smug grin.

“You know when I said talk to him,” Noah says, “I meant once he’s better.”

“He told you?”

“Couldn’t shut up about it.” Noah calls from the kitchen. “Wore himself out.”

“I’m sorry.” Derek takes a seat in one of the spare arm chairs.

Noah comes out holding two beers. “Don’t be.” He hands a drink to Derek before taking a seat opposite him. “It’s about time you two sorted out your shit. Just… could you do something for me?”

“Of course.”

Stiles stirs on the couch.

“Don’t tell Melissa yet.” Noah says. “She’ll want to collect on the bet.”

“Wait!” Stiles looks over at his dad, horrified. “What bet?”

**Author's Note:**

> Come visit me on [Tumblr](https://tails89.tumblr.com/) and send me a prompt


End file.
